Friday, April 29, 2005

Snerk and Ewww

Yesterday, right before my shift ends, a student brings up a wallet he found in the bathroom. Good, thanks. I do the same thing I do whenever I'm given a found wallet or purse. I open it up to see how much money's in it. No, not to take. If there's a copious amount, I call UPD to come pick it up and deliver to the owner. That's the procedure. But there's only eleven bucks in the wallet.

There's a driver's license in the clear pocket. Fine, I'll email him and tell him we got his wallet. I look the student's name up in the directory to get his email address. I find Adam Smith, but the directory says the guy's faculty and the ID I'm holding is for a guy who's 22. At most, he'd be a senior undergrad. No way he could be faculty. I look at the driver's license more closely. There's something weird about it. There are several credit cards and other plastic in the wallet. I take them out and shuffle through them. All of the credit cards are for Adam Turvik, and I find his student ID. The student ID is for Adam Turvik as well. It's the same guy. I can see that clearly. In fact, when I place the driver's license beside the student ID, the pictures are identical.

The student ID's don't list much information. In fact, they only give the first initial, middle initial, last name, and birth date. A. Turvik was born in 1985. I look at the liscence. Adam Smith d.o.b. 1982. Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a fake ID. Of course, I can't keep quiet over this. I show it to my co-vampire Laura, and we set to snickering over it, and we even look up his patron record to see if he even lives in the state the license is for. Of course not, he's a freaking local. I'm trying to decide what my responsibility is here. Should I throw the fake ID away? If I did, he surely wouldn't raise a stink over it. I'm still debating what to do while composing my email when Adam Turvik aka Adam Smith walks up.

Of course, my co-vampire and I recognize him right off. We stuff all the plastic and ID's back into the wallet. He comes up and asks if a wallet has been turned in. He's seen us stuffing everything back into the wallet. We hand it to him. He opens it up and starts going through it, checking for everything. We didn't put it back like it was. It didn't seem a big deal, but he gets a little pissy like he suspects we took something and doesn't appreciate that we'd gone through his wallet.

Oh no, he is not getting outraged with me. Nothing is missing, and he's the idiot who left it in the bathroom. I say quite clearly and calmly to him, "I was going to email you that we had your wallet, but I had to find your real name first." He shut up quick and left.

Laura and I laughed over the whole thing and instantly told the morning crew coming in and laughed some more. Hey, we're vampires not angels.

Now for the EWWWW!

Just a couple minutes before sitting down to tell you about Adam, I'm walking out of the staff area when I see a piece of cloth on the floor. It's crumpled up. I don't know what it is, except that it's purple. Gingerly, I pick it up. When it gets to eye level, I realize what it is. It's a freaking G-string, and it's DIRTY.

UKKK! EWWW! GET IT AWAY FROM ME! WHAT THE FUCK? I fling it onto an empty bookshelf and race to the front and subsequently empty the Purell dispenser that's kept up there. Why me? Why? I'm absolutely traumatized. I'm putting in for workmen's comp.

WHY is it in the staff area?! I would've known to get tongs before investigating if it were out in one of the public areas, but this was behind the desk. Is no place safe?

P.S. I saw my first streakers tonight on my drive to work. Two guys just flopping along. None in the library yet, but the night's still young.



Anonymous Spike said...

Ew! Crusty knickers definitely calls for compo. And trauma counselling.

4:19 PM, April 29, 2005  

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